the Hell Out at Sea
by ransa ga shinda
Summary: "The Devil's Haven"—it was surely no real haven for even the most fiendish of men. Toris was simply rather unlucky. [fantasy AU; old fic so discontinued unless interest is expressed]


a multi-chapter unfinished fic 13 year old me wrote one night instead of doing my homework like a responsible kid. sorry, the description lied.

the natalya chapter is significantly better than the other three in this thing.

i like the world, though, and i might rewrite this with original characters/changed location names one day.

* * *

1 / Toris

Had Toris woken up any later than he did, he would have landed quite painfully on the wooden floorboards of the ship. His cramped cot was rocking violently with the turbulent waves, and he could hear other members of the crew retching from seasickness in the adjacent rooms, feeling his own stomach churn uncomfortably despite his experience with maritime travel. He climbed the ladder to the deck as the rain drenched his hair and clothes, the drops hitting his face so hard that it stung. The captain was onboard, running around and giving orders at the few remaining crew members to check the sails and the navigation panel and pieces of jargon that Toris was less than familiar with. He called out as loudly as he could through the rumbling sound of distant thunder, willing to offer help, but was pushed to the other side and almost overboard as the floor tilted dangerously. A foreign hand grabbed his and suddenly he was shoved back down the ladder, tumbling into an unfamiliar room.

"_Hey, what the hell are you doing? We're like, aboard a death trap here, and you're offering to help them?_" Toris, too afraid to move, looked on as the unfamiliar man before him spoke vehemently in a different language, what Toris guessed was of Ibenyan origin. His shoulder length blonde hair was fringed and tousled, and he wore a dirtied tunic dappled with unfamiliar substances that Toris didn't care to know the origin of. He pointed a finger in accusation as he spoke, adopting a feminine stance that didn't quite fit with his attitude.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't speak-" Toris offered in his native tongue, instinctively shielding himself with one arm.

"_Rukkan? You're, like, Rukkan or something?_" There was a sudden change of heart as the man pulled back slightly. "_Liz, look at that! An Ibeny-bro being totally chill and everything. Been a long time since we've met one this weak, though. Gotta wonder what a kid like him's here for." _He glanced about, and as if this were all staged a beautiful woman with long, flowing hair flounced into the room on cue, her green dress trailing fringed ribbons across the floor as she grinned.

"Hello! Erszébet is my name! You can call me Liz though, because everyone calls that of me! You met Feliks here." She spoke oddly, in terribly accented words, though it comforted Toris a bit to know that he was not completely alone on this ship headed for who-knows-where.

"I'm Toris. Nice to meet you—Liz, was it? And Feliks, I suppose it's nice to meet you t-" Toris stopped, forgetting for a moment that the blonde man wasn't quite as well-versed in Rukkan.

"_How cute, you were right! He really is just a darling isn't he? Feliks, see the reason I'd like to teach you to speak in more languages than just Ibenyan,_" Liz drawled, clasping her hands together excitedly, then whispering, "_Though, he's almost too nice for the type of guy aboard _this_ ship. I don't think he knows why he's here._" To Toris, she only said, "Worry not needed, Feliks is just stubborn! He _never_ wants to learn new languages such as what we speak." She stared mock-accusingly at the other.

Feliks offered an embarrassed, lopsided smile that almost seemed more like a smirk, leaning over to gently take Liz's hand in his. "_C'mon, stop it Liz!_" he said, laughing. "_Once we reach the Devil's Haven, we so need to, like, teach _this _guy a few things ourselves._" His face fell for a mere second despite his attempts to maintain good humour. "_Like, if __he can make it there, 'course."_

"_Oh, you worrier, that's just unlike you! He's not the type to jump once he knows the truth. Just look, he's not even vomiting from all this rocking,_" Liz murmured softly, glancing ever so slightly back at Toris while she talked. "_Ah, that's right. __Should I?" _It was a question that every meeting with a newcomer mandated the asking of.

Feliks gave a tiny nod, and it was enough for the woman to understand; she turned her entire attention on the attentive brown-haired boy.

"Dear, sorry for such a sudden topic change like this! But I think we - I - need to talk to you about destination now!" She murmured hurriedly. "It's actually bad news that you're not aware."

Toris' blood went cold as the ship gave a sudden lurch, all seemingly timed so perfectly as Liz prepared herself to talk, looking on sympathetically.

Steadying herself against the door with one hand, Liz said, "Really, you have no clue what you're here for."

She leaned closer to Toris, green eyes like cloudy emeralds. "I'm sorry, ok?"

* * *

2 / Feliks

Every trip to and from the Devil's Haven meant that Feliks would have more blood on his hands and more sharp arrows of guilt to stab into his heart until the very day he died.

He hated that name, Devil's Haven, and did so for many reasons that weren't all deemed unworthy. The Haven itself was an inconspicuous island off the coast of the Etresjan peninsula, but for however small it may have been, it doubly made up for it in sheer wealth, power, and above all, crime. It was home to the most daring thieves, the most skilled assassins, the most clandestine spies. It had once all been for the ever-pervasive reason so tempting to every criminal, to acquire by any means the rich stores of gold coins that Treran and Olverian merchants gloated over.

Feliks came with the last of the merchant ships, one that meant to establish a prosperous mineral trade from Ibenya. It was heading toward Olveri originally, but got steered off course, having plunged itself right in the heart of a building whirlpool. He should have jumped overboard, Feliks now thought, just like half the crew did out of desperation, but no. He was like Toris back then, and he offered his own knowledge. The sailor was inexperienced, a young but feisty, brash man by the name of Pyotr. All bark and no bite, and Feliks hated him. Hate was a strong word, but it was all that he could muster up, a growing fountain of hate for that sailor and a growing anger at himself. He had helped Pyotr with the directions that the man had fumbled over, sorted out the mixed signals from satellite points and managed to get what remained of the people on board out of the eye of the storm.

But was it saving people if he lead them to this dungeon? This labyrinthine hell packed with convicts who would kill them without a second thought?

His thoughts turned to Toris. Feliks didn't know exactly what to think of the bedraggled young boy, who'd seemed so very kind and determined but yet so scared, fragile. It reminded Feliks of himself, or at least, what he used to be. Decidedly, that was the only thing sending waves of distaste into Feliks' mind. What had he suffered for being so? Being condemned for purposely taking control of the ship. Being condemned for the murder of those who had willingly taken their own lives. Beaten to near death, mistaken as a Rukkan traitor in the revolution. Subject to whatever the thieves wanted, the assassins wanted, the spies wanted, and that was information. Worse than money, because Feliks would have given up all the money he left in Ibenya to save his own life.

He wouldn't have given up his family.

He wouldn't have given up his country.

But he was an idiot, and he did the day that they asked. Pressure, he told himself.

The phoenix could revive itself after death, couldn't it? Feliks Lukasiewicz was the phoenix.

From what he knew, Toris was not completely like him.

It seemed that Feliks really _would_ have more blood on his hands after he left the island.

* * *

3 / Natalya

"Gone so soon? And you mean to say—?" Natalya fixed her composure, impatiently grasping the handle of the sheathed dagger hidden in her sleeve.

"I'm afraid so, Lady Natalya. He said it was for governmental affairs in Essia," was the calm reply. The messenger stared her down with composure, though there were traces of fear that flashed before his eyes.

"Governmental affairs _my ass,_" the platinum blonde woman muttered to herself. "I shall not allow it! How dare Ivan disregard the laws like that. Rukkan officials shouldn't care about countries in _isolation_." She spat out the last word as if it left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, the hand on the dagger now tightened until she was sure her knuckles were beginning to turn white.

"I sincerely apologize, my Lady. I can't say that I'm well aware of any details about his motives. I was only sent with a single message." Natalya resisted the urge to up and strangle the young man right then and there, and his unaffected stance only added fuel to the fire.

"Do you think I care about whatever you're blabbing?" she hissed. "Right now, _I_ am telling _you_ to find Ivan and I suggest you step to it right now before I blind you with my knife over here." Her eyes glinted dangerously, although a small smirk played on her lips as she saw the other person take a tiny step backwards.

"Y-yes, Lady Natalya. So be it; I'll make sure Ivan returns by the morrow," he stammered, in a sudden rush to exit the palace, his steps uneven as he hurried out.

"Hm." Natalya turned swiftly on her heel, not wishing to spend any more time with the anxious blonde messenger boy as he wished to with her, cursing under her breath about how irresponsible her older brother was.

Ivan's return wasn't tomorrow like the messenger had promised Natalya it would be. It wasn't the day after either, or the day after that. Every day she played with the idea of burning the person's house down if she could get to it. No one lied to her, and no one could keep their lies past her. But her mind refused to turn its usual path of sadistic humor that she so wanted it to.

Each day, Natalya's thoughts were an incessant maelstrom of daydreams that seemed more like nightmares. Ivan getting captured by the Ibenians. Ivan getting killed by the Ibenyans. Ivan getting lost in unfamiliar land. Ivan held back for interrogation in Essia. Ivan thrown in jail. Ivan trapped. Ivan hurt. Ivan dead. She told herself to think of the good things and only the good things, that her strong, smart brother would come back safely and in good condition, but the ideas twisted into pessimism. Ivan was still young at heart, like such an innocent child, undeserving of manipulation by the dark souls around him. Those people would be exterminated by the hands of Natalya herself if they ever dared taint her poor, dear brother. She couldn't be sure what happened, though, and if that was the case in the haze of days. Her mind acted like it knew, and part of the time it calmed her fears, while other times it magnified them endlessly. She wasn't sure which was better, living knowing that Ivan didn't want to come back home, or living knowing that he couldn't.

By the tenth day, she _did_ know which it was. Her mind didn't want to accept it, but her heart had already been prepared for the emptiness. There was no other possibility, and the creak of the doors as footsteps echoed indoors only caused her to shield her face as she rubbed hard at the translucent tears she just couldn't staunch.

Heartless_, _many had called her. A stone statue of a princess. But with every wet drop trailing down her cheek, she just couldn't keep up the mask.

"I am simply getting ready, do not rush me!" Natalya hissed from inside her room, with more venom than she had intended. _Getting ready for what?_ she thought with despair clutching at her senses. _Ivan won't be here to greet me. He won't ever be here to greet me. _

_I don't want anything else._

Natalya was surprised to find no guard waiting outside in the grand hall, simply her older sister, looking very, very small as she stood isolated in the middle of the long marble floor, staring up at the crystal-embellished ceiling that only seemed to mock her. She made no eye contact with Natalya, no gesture of commiseration or sympathy. So, Natalya simply stood there, with her, for longest of times. With Yekaterina, she didn't have to hide anything, and it was appreciated.

* * *

4 / Toris

By the time dawn arrived, Toris knew for sure that he didn't belong on the ship. But, it wasn't like he could unboard it now. At it cruised towards its destination still hundreds of miles away, he was shackled with only the idea of going to prison on a tiny, dangerous island as comfort. Such _prosperous_ undertakings to look forward to, indeed.

The crashing waves of last night had turned to gentle rolling ripples in the ocean. The ship was meandering at a painfully slow pace, and Toris chided himself in wishing that he could move just a little bit faster en route to his destination. After all, what was there really left for him? If he'd weighed the possibilities, surely staying on this ship for the rest of his life would be better. At least he had Feliks and Liz now; even if he couldn't fully trust them. Forcing a grim smile on his face, he swung one leg over the edge of the hanging cot and looked up at the tiny bit of light that permeated the deck and flowed into his little room.

His brother Raivis used to be so excited every time he found a new romance novel he found at the library. Toris remembered the tiny boy springing into the room, carrying a leather bound volume and chattering excitedly about every little detail in the plot. Toris had thought them silly, but now, it seemed he himself was living in one of those books. All he needed was a romance at the darkest of times and the cliche would be done. What a story he'd have to tell Raivis if he could go home, Toris thought.

Getting home was impossible. A month ago, his former self would have laughed at the very thought, the former self that faced only the hardships of maintaining his day job and passing his tests. A month ago, Eduard and Raivis would have patted his shoulder and told him that he was the world's biggest pessimist when there was nothing at all to worry about, and they all would've dismissed it.

By the time Toris climbed aboard the deck, Feliks was leaning his body over the railing, gazing into the ocean and fingering with the button on the pouch secured at his waist. He seemed almost left out compared to the other crew members, who were all hustling about doing this and doing that, sparing no time to exchange conversation. It was a nervous ambience, or at least it seemed so to Toris this time as he recalled Liz's words. Of course they were to avoid violence, and what better way than just to not speak at all?

Feliks wasn't quite willing to do that, it seemed.

"_Hey, Ibeny-bro, looks like you're up pretty early," _Feliks remarked cheerlessly, his gaze unaverted as Toris walked over to his side. Oh. Of course he forgot, thought Toris sadly. The boy didn't bother to pretend like he understood the syllables coming from Feliks's mouth.

"Hi, Feliks! I wasn't expecting you, actually." An uncomfortably long silence followed, as if it were the only thing that existed to shatter the language barrier between the two. They opted to continue staring out at the calm waters, as the sea breeze casted a chilly wind on deck.

After a moment, Feliks gestured to the pouch on his pocket, extracting from it a bottle of mysterious substances and a single obsidian dagger, its handle embellished with the Ibenyan insignia.

"_I prepared this for you, and I know you can't understand so I won't tell you how to use them. It's probs just another day before we'll arrive at the Devil's Haven. You'll need this when you get there. I mean, like, I didn't think you'd be out so early, actually." _The blond man spoke with blatant disregard to the fact that there was no way on this Earth that Toris could know what he was saying, but in a way, the boy did know. He knew that Feliks wanted him to take the supplies even before the other began to speak.

No words of thanks left Toris, and quietly, he turned the objects over for examination in his hands, feeling the cool metal and glass fit snugly into his grip as if they were made for him. But the mark on the dagger stood out, mocked him and his ignorance.

It was an amazingly detailed white dragon with spiny scales that stuck out like sharp, narrow feathers. Its eyes were crudely cut amethysts, glinting and narrow in the sunlight. Large wings curled themselves protectively over a giant silver shield, grasping two twin swords like a knight in shining armour.

The mark of the enemy, given into Toris' possession by a man who should have been his enemy. The young brunet could not muster up the will to tell Feliks that there was no way he could keep such items.

When Toris finally stepped off the ship the next day, he was still holding the knife and the bottle, even before he set foot on the paved ground of the island town. The black smoke billowed out from the factories and taverns where people cooked, a giant, monstrous fog of grey.

It had concealed the mighty dragon and its weaponry before the end of the day, leaving ash coloured metal that could not be discerned from the blade itself.


End file.
